


End of the World (the Erik Lehnsherr Was Right remix)

by not_who_we_are



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Character Study, Charles has a total meltdown, Dystopian Future, M/M, Modern AU, Post-Apocalyptic, Powered AU, Remix, This really isn't a flattering depiction of Charles Xavier (and I kind of hate myself for it), mutant subjugation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-11 18:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_who_we_are/pseuds/not_who_we_are
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People feared the end of the Mayan calendar would mean the end of the world.<br/>In many ways, they were right.</p><p>Powers and abilities began manifesting over night and, five months later, we are not the better for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	End of the World (the Erik Lehnsherr Was Right remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spicedpiano](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicedpiano/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Fuck the End of the World](https://archiveofourown.org/works/601428) by [spicedpiano](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicedpiano/pseuds/spicedpiano). 



It had been 5 months.

Five months.

Charles turned the number over in his mind. He held out his right hand and let his gaze slip across each finger, counting them silently.

Things had devolved so quickly, he thought with a chuckle. His unintentional pun felt vulgar as it bounced around his consciousness. He was relieved to find he hadn’t said it out loud. Thoughts and words were so easily confused these days.

Raven sat next to him. She was blonde and fair again today. Yesterday she had been an olive-skinned boy. The day before, an elderly woman. And before that someone else Charles had forgotten. It was off-putting, but she seemed pleased. 

Months of feeling trapped in her new midnight blue skin had left Raven sour, detached. None of them could blame her. They had all been dealing with a crisis of identity. Hers was just so… physically pronounced. 

Once things had “calmed down,” Raven found she could change appearance at will. Sometimes she shifted into her old, familiar self, which not-so-secretly pleased Charles for the most selfish of reasons. It was easy to pretend nothing had changed when he could push her flaxen locks lovingly behind her ear. But, to his often obvious dismay, she had taken to spending days in a rotating assortment of foreign bodies. She likened it to stretching a muscle. She was honing her ability. He should have been proud.

Charles sighed and aimlessly ran his fingers repeatedly through his hair, gently scratching at his scalp as he went. He did this when he was overtired. Or stressed. Or lonely. He did this a lot. 

As his pen dragged across the paper in front of him, Charles toyed with the idea of attempting to reach out with his mind. Raven shifted on the couch, and with that small movement, he dismissed the idea. She may have a handle on (or some amount of control over) her ability, but he remained firm in his denial of his "gift." He'd never used it. Never tried. He no longer counted those times with Erik. It felt disrespectful to their current situation to give into hazy memories of deft fingers stroking muscled flesh, or long, low moans muffled by frantic kisses... or sweat-slicked skin grinding against his own, electrified by the newness of it all... 

It was disrespectful and it was pathetic and it was a series of images that clouded Charles's mind more often than he felt truly comfortable with. 

Charles had become accustomed to discomfort in the last five months.

If it had been five months since the world had “ended,” that meant it had been four since Erik had left.

It felt like lifetimes ago.

Charles found it a bit hard to believe that just last year he had been simply another student at MIT. Just another face in the sea of other anonymous faces. Just another guy falling stupidly in love with someone he probably shouldn’t. 

But he did. Fall in love that is. And rather stupidly at that. Erik was dangerous and handsome and fierce and magnificent and all sorts of other adjectives that were both cheesy and absolutely true. He was a glorious mistake that Charles was prepared to make over and over. He was now someone Charles thought of wistfully. What an awful feeling.

_12 21 2012_

Why did it seem Charles always scratched that date onto any pure, unmarred sheet of paper he came across?

He stared down at it now. It was simple: that day haunted him; that’s why he fixated on it. Raven had once said, with surprising insight and confidence, that holding on to the past allowed Charles to not acknowledge the present. 

He remembers that argument quite clearly, actually. He had once again casually lamented their current state. Something along the lines of “why us,” but Charles can only assume it had been stated much more eloquently.

Raven had gotten to her feet, shifting to blue in her heightened agitation. 

“Shut up and deal with it, Charles,” she had said. “This is who we are now. You said it yourself, ‘the next stage in human evolution.’”

He couldn’t argue there. He _had_ said it. But he had also been a man strengthened by the certainty of a newly formed union, a partnership. Looking at it from this distance, all alone, after the violence and the mayhem, his words seem childish.

After Raven had given her little speech, and Charles had rushed out of the room nearly knocking Angel over, he had gone to sit on the roof.

This was the first, and last, time he had reached out with wispy tendrils of thought for Erik. And that night, as easy as breathing, he found him. And just as he slipped into the warm cavern of his mind, Erik shut him out. Angrily, violently.

Charles had become awfully fond of dates and anniversaries. He didn’t have to pause and ponder to know that was two months ago. He hadn’t really _used_ his ability since. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if he was able to any longer. Charles was unwilling to find out.

Some part of it was still there though. He was privy to emotions and general mood changes. It was like being forced to read body language all the time without being able to stop. So, it was not at all like reading body language. And he was certainly tiring of his front row seat for the constant emotional turmoil surrounding Raven’s own personal Hunger Games. Hank and Azazel the Gale and Peeta to Raven’s self-involved Katniss. 

That’s not fair, he thought. She’s stepped up. She’s grown. And she deserves to be happy, even if the dramatics of her semi-love triangle are exhausting. 

And Charles knew he was sort of jealous. 

When the world as they knew it had ended, Charles was wrapped around Erik. Their bodies sticky and spent, whispering declarations of love into each others skin. It was exhilarating. All around them “mutants” were “waking up,” a small percentage of the human race exhibiting extraordinary powers and abilities. And there they were, together, both finding they were among these “chosen” few. They were special, and shiny, and complete, and none of it had anything to do with their newfound skill sets. They were complete not because of their “awakening,” but because they’d found each other. 

And they _were_ special! Medical professionals from all fields, the media, the government, they all lavished the newly minted with attention and tentative wonder. Handsome, educated, and accessible in his physical normalcy, Charles had become something of a poster boy for the new human, homo superior. 

(Oh, and they loved him. Until they didn't. And he was marched off with the rest.)

It all happened so fast. But they had still had each other and the _real_ poking and prodding had yet to begin. So nights were spent in ignorant bliss, Charles clumsily slipping into Erik’s mind while he swallowed down his cock. Lovely, filthy words were delivered directly into Erik’s head, meant to send him reeling. They were like horny teenagers, re-learning sex.

Charles could feel everything Erik felt. He could be both fucking and getting fucked. It was intoxicating. The power Erik exhibited when he manipulated a simple wallet chain to twist around Charles’s wrists, his ankles, leaving him open and teasingly vulnerable, was divine.

And they were stupid enough to think it could go on like this. Well, at least Charles was.

Raven’s book fell from her lap with a low _thud_. She had drifted off. With a peek over his shoulder, Charles could see Sean’s eyes had also slipped shut, his head lolling off to one side. 

He was surrounded by children and he was shockingly bitter about it. 

Charles glanced down again at the date written out on the page beneath his elbow. Five months…

It had taken less than a day for the media to spin it. 

“The Mayans were right! 12/21/12 was the end of the world! ***** ”  
 ***** as we know it

They added an asterisk. That was their angle. The prophecies were all true! It was the end of an era. The end of the world, as we knew it. 

Unsurprisingly, that didn’t go over very well. And while Charles and Erik lay in a heap of sweaty limbs, lips swollen and muscles sore, the world around them revolted.

“Real” humans weren’t all that keen on being obsolete. They didn’t want it to be the end of their era. They were frightened and scared and soon the “mutants” were being corralled into separate housing, “for observation,” “for their own good.”

Erik, Charles, Raven, and a handful of other students were rounded up and placed in a building on campus. This was two weeks after the end of the world. This was around the time Charles started writing the date on all pristine pieces of paper. 

This was two weeks before Erik left.

They had both been naive, and Erik would admit later in a sort of backhanded jab, blinded by lust. Erik said he should have seen this coming. None of them had asked for this change, but that didn’t stop the frightened insecurity of the rabble. Erik had talked to Charles about World War II. He had brought up the camps. He had likened their situation to that of the Jews. To put it bluntly, he had whipped their household into a frenzy. In their short time in captivity (although then, it was still comically referred to as “voluntary”), Erik and Charles had become, for lack of a more accurate descriptor, den mothers. Parents. “The Adults.” And Daddy was scaring the children.

Oh, but how he roared on. “They” didn’t care what caused the change. All they saw were our differences and it terrified them. Erik was like a hurricane. A dark, ominous force that upset the balance. He tried to cajole Charles into using his ability to reach out to other mutants in lockdown, try to organize some sort of uprising. He had tried it once, only to pull back out of… fear? 

Charles still wasn’t sure if it was _fear_ that made him collapse under the weight. Perhaps it had been the pressure. Perhaps it had been the desire to not know. Perhaps it was that using his ability was acknowledging it, and asking questions he didn’t want the answers to was just too much.

Later that night, he and Erik lay in bed. Erik stroked his hair and nuzzled his cheek, pressing light kisses to his throat like silent promises. He told Charles it would be OK. They would work on his ability. Charles could practice on Angel to “get the hang of it.” There was no pressure, Erik assured him. It might take time for Charles to get control. 

There was something condescending about the words and caresses. Even as the pillowy kisses were traded for playful nips, even as he felt Erik’s growing hardness jab his thigh, Charles felt as though he was being treated like a skittish puppy afraid of the thunder. 

He told Erik he had no plans to “work” on his ability. He had no desire to “practice.” He would not contact others in hopes of organizing any sort of coup. He simply wanted to be left alone. It would all blow over.

Charles knew, even then, it wouldn’t.

If Erik had been dark and ominous before, he was a force of nature now. His anger flooded into Charles’s mind, and for a brief moment, Charles remembers thinking he wished he’d at least practiced keeping people _out_. 

Erik raged. How could Charles be so blind? How could he just sit here, waiting for the inevitable? And what was it that he’d called him? “A lab rat in the making”? 

As Erik spoke, or rather, as he bellowed, the bed frame vibrated with a low hum. The crappy little table lamp shimmied across the desk. The room seemed alive with the force of Erik’s anger. And it was all directed at Charles. 

Even as his eyes swelled with the tears he refused to spill, Charles repeatedly refused to see Erik’s side. He was certain that clearer heads would prevail. 

He was stubborn and petulant, yes. But most of all, Charles was petrified. And in that moment all he wanted was Erik to hold him. The fact that mere minutes before Erik had been doing just that was not lost on Charles.

If Erik was out of control, so was he. Charles was just showing it a bit differently. As the radiator in the corner creaked and moaned in time with Erik’s shouts, Charles felt himself shutting down. The anger that pooled in the room was suffocating, and so was the fact that everything Erik said sounded true.

Charles wouldn’t allow Erik’s truths to rule the day. Because then what sort of world would they live in?

Charles snorted bitterly as he looked around the musty common area. It was where most of their time was spent now. Alex and Sean shared a room upstairs, and Raven had her own since Angel’s departure. As did Charles… but he couldn’t stand the thought of sleeping in a bed he’d once shared with Erik. 

It had taken nine days for the pillow to loose Erik’s scent. 

Perhaps in time he’d be able to say Erik’s name without wincing, without it feeling foreign in his mouth—a treacherous foe dancing on his tongue. In time, yes. But time and distance were a luxury he wasn’t afforded in this world. So instead, he often found himself staring at a now abandoned bed, fantasizing about a reunion that was becoming less realistic with every sunset. 

Erik was right. Erik had been right about it all! Voluntary blood samples became mandatory. Being separated from the general population for their own good was suddenly a full-on lockdown. There was no leaving. There was no discussion. And the first day that Alex was forcefully removed from their home for “further tests,” Charles was ready to join Erik’s fight.

But he was already gone. And Charles was too ashamed.

Angel and Erik had been teleported (was that the right term?) out to join a growing rebel group. The Brotherhood is what they called themselves. Someone like Charles had slipped into Erik’s mind and explained the situation. Asked if we’d like to join. Said they had someone who could slip in and grab us, two at a time. And when the gorgeous, almost elven, young woman appeared from out of nowhere to escort them out, you could hear Azazel’s gasp. 

Before her hasty departure, the woman, nicknamed Blink for obvious reasons, had explained that yes, certain powers were slow to develop, but there was talk of food being drugged. Inhibitors being injected. Rumors that “humans” had figured out how to put the cap back on their abilities. She had said, “if they can’t work out how to replicate us, they’d rather just shut us down.”

Charles didn’t want to think about it. Charles was a human. _They_ were humans! How could they forget that! 

But as quick as she’d come, Blink was leaving, taking Erik and Angel with her. And all Charles wanted to do was cry. But he didn’t. In fact, he turned his head away as Erik attempted to catch his eye. 

Charles had still believed that things would blow over. That they could return to normal lives once the scientific community had figured it all out. Once people had time to acclimate. 

Oh, but now in month five, that seemed ever so unlikely. And even though Raven seemed to have no problem sliding in and out of borrowed forms, most of the others felt tamped down. In the beginning, Azazel could _poof_ across the room. Now he barely got out of bed. 

Charles didn’t want to say it, and he didn’t have to because Raven was all too ready to do it for him. Blink, The Brotherhood, was right. They were being controlled. Raven thought she may be immune to whatever they were using. She wanted to join the fight; maybe she could be of help. Charles told her she wasn’t that special. Said they probably felt what she could do was too innocuous to be concerned with.

That didn’t go over well. 

Sadness and helplessness had replaced food and water in Charles’s stable of things that helped sustain life. He was drenched in sorrow and self-pity. The world wasn’t just ending with an asterisk. It was actually ending. It was crumbling all around them and Charles shed tears in the darkness for the man he missed more than his freedom. Of course Erik had been right. He was Erik. He was every incarnation of _right_. His steel gray eyes were right. The long, sinuous line of his throat was right. The way his shirt clung to his chest was right. His sharp, complex mind was right. The way he looked at Charles, gaze a drugging mix of heated lust and complete adoration… well, that was so right it made Charles lightheaded. Sometimes the memory of it made him dry heave into a plastic waste paper basket. 

There was no room in Erik Lehnsherr’s life for this weak-willed version of Charles Xavier. So, this fool who all but tossed away his rightful place by Erik’s side, sat in a building secured by metal shutters and iron gates.

This thought never failed to amuse Charles. Or cause bile to rise in his throat like pure acid. Erik could come get him if he wanted him. The weight of this knowledge sent hot tears to sit right behind Charles’s eyes. 

Raven twisted in an over exaggerated post-nap stretch. As she turned her full, alert, attention to Charles, he felt her stiffen.

“You’re staring at that fucking date again. Thinking about him.” 

Raven’s statements, although reminiscent of questions, were impossible to misconstrue as the latter. So Charles kept his mouth tightly shut.

“This isn’t OK. Look at all we’ve lost—all we’ve gained—and you’re sitting here pining away!”

She wasn’t looking for a response, so Charles didn’t offer one.

“You think he is? No! He’s out _doing_ something, Charles! He isn’t crying in his tea over you while he watches the world burn!”

And because the truth of it stung more than Charles could begin to admit he said, “Then why don’t you go find him.” (And bring him back…)

“I don’t have to find him,” she replied without missing a beat. “I’ve known where he’s been the whole time. Their telepath has been in contact with me for months.”

Her delivery of this information was far too cool, casual. Charles knew that this meant she was leaving even without utilizing his empathic attributes. 

Now she was waiting for a reaction, or perhaps an argument. When she didn’t get one she simply pushed on. “Azazel is coming with me.”

And because Charles had nothing to say, that was the end of the conversation. His sister was leaving to join the man he loved, the man who inhabited all of his thoughts. With no small amount of self-loathing, Charles was aware that the only question he cared to ask of Raven was whether or not she’d “talked” with Erik; if he’d asked about him.

Charles also realized he’d always known this moment would come. He’d known Erik’s mind, and in turn, he knew how magnificent he was. He’d be the man to save them all. 

Erik Lehnsherr was right. And Charles Xavier was too much of a coward to stand beside him.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Fuck the End of the World_ is spicedpiano's version of PWP. Funny thing is, it hinted at something truly amazing. So I took that glorious idea, planted in a hopeful and sexy land of telepathic sex and mutual adoration, and I ruined it.  
>  It is angsty and I truly apologize for this almost embarrassingly apathetic version of Charles. This is just what came out of my head.
> 
> Thanks for the inspiration :)


End file.
